


crawling to ignition

by neytirijade



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, First Time, Slow Burn, season of secret sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 00:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15919557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neytirijade/pseuds/neytirijade
Summary: The progression of Mulder and Scully's romantic relationship, starting from season 7's 'Millennium' up through 'All Things' (and possibly beyond).





	crawling to ignition

_“The world didn’t end.“_

The air is brisk and wintery outside the hospital, and she idly wonders if it might snow. They weave around a middle-aged couple, stepping past the hum of the automatic doors, and his arm drops from Scully’s shoulders. She shivers lightly at the cold, but her skin is flushed, overheated in the wake of what had been shared between them just moments prior.

Their drive is silent, Mulder nodding off from the remnants of his morphine drip. She smiles in spite of herself when she hears a soft snore rumble from his chest.

She’s dazed as she drives. The scratches on her neck start to itch.

In hindsight, she shouldn’t be surprised he kissed her. She’s more surprised he chose that moment in particular to do so. The kiss was quick, chaste, and another time, Scully would have passed it off as a product of the morphine, or maybe even the romance of the couples they’d watched kiss on screen as the ball of the new millennium dropped in Times Square. But she knew that was a ridiculous thought, ruled by the fear and anxiety of what might transpire next. A small part of her held onto the hope that they would simply return to their usual repertoire, their old song and dance: the occasional remarks back and forth that could qualify as their own linguistic, preternatural kind of flirting, as well as the lingering, hot sauna gazes, ones that oftentimes would leave her heart galloping in her chest—but she wondered if ultimately, silently, they’d to forget the way their lips melded as if they were meant to never do anything other than just that. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Though she knew she would continue to long for him, to yearn to feel his muscles under her delicate fingers and the weight of him between her legs and his hot mouth on her flushed skin, the idea that they could go back to the way things had been for seven years would be the more comfortable option. They’d always opted for the easier solution, a solution that would keep them at arm’s length of each other, too afraid to break that tension for what they really wanted. They could return to being work partners, to being best friends, to investigating the strange and chasing the elusive, and denying the tension that always seemed to be there, hot and glowing and burning, never ceasing but only growing with years passed.

But Scully decides she doesn’t want things to go back to the way they were. She resolves that somehow, this time, she won’t let this pass between them.

She pulls into the parking lot of his apartment, quietly easing her tires between the two reflective lines painted in worn cement. With a light twist of her car key, she shuts the engine off, and the soft purr of the machine gives way to the quiet of night. She unbuckles her seatbelt, poised to exit the car, and pauses, glancing over at her sleeping partner.

There’s a subtle line of worry in his forehead, but otherwise, his features are soft, cotton and down under the lights of the street lamp. A lazy smile eases upon Scully’s lips, and she reaches over, lightly grazing the prickle of newly grown hair that’s begun to appear on his jaw.

“Mulder,” she whispers, tapping him on the cheek. “Mulder, you’re home.”

He rouses enough to swivel his head around and take stock of his surroundings. Scully stretches her arm behind her to grab their things and exits the car while he pauses to gain his bearings.

She steps around to the passenger side and opens his door. Mulder groans, twisting around to the car door and takes a moment to stretch his legs outside of the car.

“You alright, there, partner?” She smiles down at him, watching some alertness seep back into his features. He gives a little hum and moves to stand.

Scully swings their bags over her shoulder, freeing her hands, and offers them to him. Mulder accepts gratefully, his hand clasping hers as he climbs to his feet; he doesn’t really need her assistance in getting up, as only his arm is injured and the painkillers they’d given him at the hospital were beginning to ease out of his system, but he always welcomes any excuse to touch her.

Their trip upstairs is uneventful, and, once inside his apartment, Scully begins to lead him to his bedroom.

“No, Scully, you gotta take me out to dinner first,” he quips in a mock whine.

He’s expecting an eye roll, or maybe even, if he’s lucky, a smile that she may or may not try to hide, but he delights when she giggles—she actually  _giggles_ —at his joke.

She intends on settling him into bed, but when they enter his bedroom, she gets nervous. Instead, she leaves him standing at the foot of the bedframe and sets her bag on the mattress. Scully begins to pull her medical kit from her bag and retrieve gauze, medical wrap and alcohol, when Mulder speaks up.

“Scully, you don’t have to check on my arm, I just got the bandage applied not even an hour ago,” he tells her. She shakes her head.

“I know, but I just want to check on it—I mean, after all, we don’t know what  _actually_ bit you, and you could very easily get an infection, and—I forget, did they give you stitches, or were the wounds light enough—”

Her voice breaks off as he pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers against her face makes her breath hitch involuntarily, and she looks up at him, her previous activity all but forgotten.

Scully flashes back to the day her father died, the first time he touched her like this, nearly five years ago. The look in his eyes has hardly changed. She feels her skin flush hot under his touch.

“I’m okay, Scully,” he says quietly.

She nods, pulling a breath deep in her lungs. She gathers her things. “I guess I’ll, uh, leave you to it then,” she begins. “I’ll be back tomorrow to check the bandages, okay? Just make sure not to lay on it.”

She starts to head toward the door, her bag slung over her shoulder. Mulder walks her to the door, his shadow making her nervous.  _It’s just Mulder,_  she thinks.  _Why am I so anxious?_

As they stop at his apartment door, Scully gives his arm another gentle once-over, the light touch of her nails making the hair on his skin stand up.

“Call me if you need anything, okay? And don’t forget to take your antibiotics tomorrow afternoon,” she looks at him pointedly. “They’re in your bag along with a bottle of painkillers if it gets bad. Remember to try not to sleep on it, it could aggravate the wound—”

The rest of her sentence is forgotten because his mouth has come to rest gently against her own. She sighs into the kiss, stowing aside her initial surprise and leaning against him as his fingers bury themselves in a feathery caress against her hair. The kiss earlier could be written off as friendly, even innocent—but this one, this one cannot, not as her tongue lightly begins to dart from her lips and connect with his. She gasps at the taste of him—wants to drown in it, to taste nothing but this for the rest of her waking days.

Her fingers come to spread over his chest and too soon, she delicately pulls herself from his lips. When she looks up at him, his eyes sparkle, and he continues to caress her cheek ever so softly as he watches her.

Scully leans in to kiss him once more, a sweet promise escaping her in a breath.

“Goodnight, Mulder,” she says against his lips, their eyes finding each other again before she pulls away.

“Goodnight, Scully.”

And he lets her leave, for the first time in years looking forward to the promise of what comes next.

#

Three days later, while she’s in the office typing up final notes for a casefile, he’s been glancing at her nervously for the better part of an hour.

_Body of 32 year-old Susanne Huxton was found shortly thereafter—_

Scully can’t focus. She wishes he would just come out with it.

_—the wounds on her chest and stomach were indicative of violent attack—_

_Come on_ , she thinks.  _Out with it._

_—victim showed no signs of struggle or defensive wounds—_

She almost looks up from her case notes to ask him what is it, when finally, he speaks up.

“Hey, Scully,” Mulder’s regular axiom, albeit tentative.

“Hm?”

“Um…” His pause makes her look up. “W-what are you up to tonight?” He finally juts out.

She shrugs, clicking away at her desktop. “Same old, I guess. Why?”

“I-uh,” he stammers slightly and clears his throat, sitting up in his chair: “Do you want to have dinner?”

She contemplates him for a moment, and then her eyes soften. “I’d love to, Mulder,” she replies.

#

He moves nervously about his apartment, an organism with no ready goal or responsibility, his tasks for the remainder of the next hour or so already completed. He has a dress shirt and pants laid out, “semi-casual”, they’d agreed on, and he’s showered and shaved. He doesn’t expect to be lucky enough to take her back to his apartment afterward, but he cleans up anyway, throwing laundry in the hamper and getting rid of the leftover pizza that’s sat on his stove for three days. Just as he’s setting the centerpiece back on his coffee table, there’s a knock at his door.

Mulder checks his watch. It’s 6:45. Why would she be 45 minutes early?

He hurries toward the door, worry getting the best of him. When he opens it, Scully is there, wearing a lavender sundress and a small black sweater that ends at her waist, complete with a pair of black sandals. She doesn’t fully meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she says first, looking down at her feet. “I know I’m really early, I just—”

He ushers her inside. “It’s alright, Scully, don’t worry about it. Did you want to start heading over there? Just give me a moment to get dressed—”

“I’m—” she interrupts him, stuttering, “Mulder, is it… is it okay that we just stay here? Maybe just watch TV and order takeout or something?” She’s nervous, he can tell, but there’s something else in the hesitance shining in her eyes. He doesn’t push. Instead, he nods, his arm going over her shoulders to lead her to the couch. “Yeah, Scully, that’s okay,” he smiles reassuringly. “What do you want to order?”

Scully gradually eases into a more comfortable state, once they’ve eaten and begun to share a bottle of red wine he’d bought on his way home from work. They’d started out watching television, then a bad horror movie on his local cable, but soon after they finished their dinner the TV was muted in lieu of conversation.

Their proximity grew closer and closer as they ate and talked, and now Scully’s giggling with her knee draped over his, and his fingers dip along the back of her calf.

“I don’t think I can believe that, Scully. Not without concrete evidence.”

She shakes her head, dipping her mouth into her glass of wine again. “It’s true. I spent the summer between college and med school just… Pretty much always stoned. I even took ecstasy once with Melissa.”

Mulder takes a sip of his wine before placing it back on the coffee table, his hand coming back to rest on her knee. Scully has gone quiet, resting her head along the back of the couch, eyes closed.

He doesn’t say anything: instead, he leans back toward the other side of the couch, easing a bit of space between them so he can watch her.

She’d arrived at his apartment with less makeup than usual, however she’d applied a sheen of lip gloss (that had quickly disappeared while eating, only to leave a light, humid shine that Mulder had wanted to swipe at with his tongue) and much darker eye makeup than she normally wore. It had made the aqua of her eyes stand out so much, it had distracted him. He couldn’t decide whether to lose himself in the striking blue of her eyes, or the plump, decadent glimmer of her mouth. It didn’t help that her sundress, although the neckline was high and conservative, was a sheer, flimsy sort of material, stopping just above her knees. Mulder wasn’t surprised that his hand had found his way to the hemline so quickly.

After several, long moments, Scully’s voice made him startle. “See something you like?”

“Yes.”

She’d expected him to reply sarcastically, or attempt to deflect her question in another way—she wasn’t used to them now being so open about their desire for each other, and it made her open her eyes to look up at him. Indeed, he was looking at her like she was dessert, and she was all too willing to give him a taste.

With a slide of her thigh over his, she slips effortlessly into his lap and greets his waiting mouth with hers. She moves her hands up to twine his short hair in her fingers, and can’t stifle the whimper that leaves her throat when Mulder’s hands move up over her back, under the light sweater she wore.

Quickly, it turns heated, their bodies flush with each other as they take long gulps with their mouths and tongues. His fingers grip her hips tight, and he doesn’t realize she’s grinding into his lap until the hard length of his erection seeks out the heat between her legs. She moans into his mouth.

Suddenly, Scully pulls away, hiding the flush of her skin against his shoulder. It isn’t until he feels the shaky breath she takes, shuddering lightly against him, that he realizes she’s crying.

“Hey,” he says quietly, pulling back and taking her face into his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. “What is it, Scully?”

She takes another, more steadying breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Shh,” Mulder quiets her, caressing her cheekbones with both thumbs. “It’s okay, Scully. There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

Shaking her head, she sniffles, resting her hands atop his shoulders as she moves from his lap and settles back onto the couch. After she doesn’t continue, he dips his head toward her.

“Talk to me. Are we going too fast? Do you—do you not want to do this?”

“No,” she says, too abruptly. “I mean..” she looks down at her hands. “I do want to do this. I just… I’m afraid of what it’s going to mean when it’s all said and done.”

“It’s up to you on what it means, Scully,” he tells her, slipping his fingers through hers. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or do anything you aren’t fully okay with doing.”

She’s quiet for a few moments, watching his thumb graze over her fingers.

“I’ve never let myself get close to anyone, Mulder. I think you know that.”

He nods, lets her continue:

“There was always something I held back, even when I was in a relationship. Even when I was in love,” Scully takes a deep breath, looking at the wine on the coffee table as she speaks. “With you, I think I’ve given you more than I ever have with another person. I think that all there is left to give is this. And it scares me.”

Mulder is quiet, letting the words mull around in his head. She turns to him again, and he thinks he could get lost in the vulnerability of her eyes, now.

“Before tonight, I thought I was ready for this, whatever this is. But I’m realizing that I’m really not. Mulder… I’m not used to feeling this way. I’m not used to… feeling so intensely about another person. It’s both invigorating and stifling at the same time. I want it so badly, but I’m afraid of what it will mean, to lose myself so completely in this.” She looks up at him. “In you.”

He turns to her, his hand moving from her fingers to caress her face. “I think I understand, Scully. And I want you to know that I’m willing to let you figure things out. I’m not going anywhere.”

She sniffs again, a tear falling over his thumb that he brushes away. She leans into him softly, letting her lips brush his ever so gently. A promise, she silently tells both Mulder and herself. A promise to not run away, to not ignore what’s between them any longer. A promise to try.


End file.
